


Trapped

by coveredbyroses



Series: Birthday Drabbles 2018 [25]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, F/M, Implied Blow Job, Implied Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 10:34:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16852423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: You and Dean trapped in a closet. What could happen?





	Trapped

_Chck-chck_

“Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me,” Dean groans, trying the handle again.

“Dean…” you drawl, voice thick with trepidation. “Are we trapped in here?”

There’s a pregnant pause and then Dean’s thunking his forehead against the wooden door. “Yep.”

“Well—can’t you just…kick it down?”

“You  _wanna_  get busted?!” the hunter hisses.

Fuck. The case was finished, you’d exorcised the demon from the poor teenager, given her the talk with the stern warning not to blab a word of this to her folks.

But then Dean had discovered that he must have dropped his wallet somewhere in the winding hallways of the school. So you’d come back after dark, sure that building was vacant.

Neither of you had thought about the janitor, and when you’d heard definite footsteps echoing down the hall, you’d bolted, cramming yourselves into the nearest supply closet.

You’d both waited in deafening silence, ears strained for any sound—and then you’d heard another rasp of leather against waxed tile…and then a single click followed by a jiggle of the door handle.

“Well, what are we supposed to do?” you hiss right back, raking a hand through your hair.

Hope blossoms in your chest at the sudden thought—“Pick it!” You whisper-yell.

“With what? I don’t have shit on me, it’s in the car—”

“Are you shitting me? Why the fuck would you leave—”

“Yeah, what about you, smartass? You go anything on you? Phone, paper clips?”

You feel yourself deflate. “No…It’s in the car.” He can’t see your dry smile.

“Alright,” he whispers. “Here’s the plan—I can bust us out, but we’re gonna hafta wait a while. Til we’re sure he’s gone.”

“How are we gonna know?” You try to find his face, try to make out his features in the staticky black, but it’s just too dark.

“We’re not,” he says simply.

“So…we’re just guessing then?”

“Yep.”

“Great,” you seethe. “We get to sit here, in total darkness, until we think the dude is gone. Fucking peachy.”

Dean clears his throat, the sound almost harsh compared to your previous whispers. “I mean, there are ways to pass the time…”

You feel your eyes widen, feel a jolt of heat surge south at the mere suggestion. “ You can’t be serious, we can’t even see each other.”

“I know what you look like,” Dean quips, you can just see his crooked grin.

“Dean, this is stup—”

A hand slides around the curve of your waist, smoothing across the small of your back to hook around the opposite hip, fingers pressing. He jerks you to him until your breasts are crushed against his chest.

You reach up, palms brushing against soft flannel, sliding up until you find the round of his shoulders. He laughs, soft. “S’like high school all over again.”

You snort back, let your fingertips slide over the soft, shorn hair at the nape of his neck.

His free hand finds the full swell of your breast. He gives you a firm squeeze and then drags it down, fingers leaving a burning path underneath your shirt.

You moan softly when fits his palm between your legs, pushing up so that the seam of your jeans presses right  _there_.

You grab him at the base of his wrist, jerk him away, and then you’re sinking to your knees, fingers blindly working at his belt.

“See, this is better than high school,” you rasp, voice lust-thick. “‘Cause I can suck your cock better than any of those cheerleading sluts.”

Dean groans.


End file.
